


carve the ache from my lungs (Safe Haven)

by Princex_N



Category: Bill & Ted (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Brainweird, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Paranoia, Pre-Canon, Schizotypal Ted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26840845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: There's no real question of where Ted's going. He knows it'll be the first place anyone thinks to look for him but it's also the only place he can go, so he has to just take it as it is. He realizes as he watches his feet hit the sidewalk that he doesn't know what time it is and it's probably really late and Bill's probably definitely asleep, but he doesn't stop running. Whether that's because he believes Bill will let him in anyway or because something will grab him if he stops is almost inconsequential.
Relationships: Ted "Theodore" Logan & Bill S. Preston Esq., Ted "Theodore" Logan/Bill S. Preston Esq.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	carve the ache from my lungs (Safe Haven)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry to go on a schizo ted kick but i got like 1+ positive reaction to the first ones and now my brain has Permission to project like this so here we are

Ted wakes up gasping, all tangled up in his sheets, already scraping hair out of his mouth and off of his sweat slick skin. 

Whatever completely unrighteous dream he'd been having has already fallen out of his head, leaving none of the memories but all of the lingering panic that leaves him scrambling for the lamp next to his bed to chase back the shadows of the room. He feels unsettled, nauseated, trying and failing to beat the anxiety back. 

He tries to shake it off, forget the fear like the dream and just go back to sleep. He accomplishes it just fine most nights, but something stubborn clings to him this time. He can't bring himself to lay back down, to lose the vantage point he has by sitting, like there's something terrible going to happen the moment he next closes his eyes. 

There's some childish part of Ted that wants to duck down the hall to his parents' room, but he knows better than that. Even mom probably wouldn't've had a lot of patience for that kind of thing when she was around, and dad most definitely won't. He'll just get mad and yell at Ted for being up or waking him up or whatever else he can find, and Ted will be right back where he started with the added bonus of knowing that his dad will be beginning the day already pissed at him. 

Ted wants to convince himself that he can handle it all just fine on his own, that he's old enough to not need anyone else's help calming down after a nightmare. Most _definitely_ too old to be scared of the dark and flinching at the thought of monsters under the bed or in the closet. 

Brutal that his brain never got that message though. 

The panic isn't fading, just getting worse. He can _tell_ that there's something watching him, waiting for him to let his guard down so it can make its move. Even sitting and staying up the rest of the night won't be enough to ward it off. Worse than that, he _knows_ there's someone watching him too, watching him breathe hard and try not to cry, just laughing at him. His dad talking to Colonel Oats again and passing on all of the details, of how Ted's shirt and sheets are soaked with sweat and how it's left him shivering in the cold, how he jumps at every odd noise of the house, how he picks nervously at his mouth and stares at the door like the military man might burst through it at any moment. Laughing at how pathetic Ted is and already making plans to break everything he is to make room for the real son his dad always wanted. 

No, Ted can't stay here. Doesn't want to stay in this house where his dad is always listening, always watching, passing along all of Ted's secrets to people he doesn't know and doesn't want to meet, he _can't_. The panicked conviction is so strong that Ted finds himself totally willing to chance whatever could be under the bed in order to make this escape. 

(He knows that some of this isn't real. That most of it isn't. That his brain makes stuff up and tries to make him believe it. Knows that monsters aren't real. But the problem is that his dad _does_ tell him he talks to Colonel Oats, Colonel Oats _is_ real, and dad _is_ always watching Ted for the inevitable moments when he messes something up. It's getting harder and harder to peel apart where the fake stuff might be meeting the real ones and Ted doesn't know how to solve that problem. Doesn't know how to fix any of this, really.) 

He's scrambling out his window before he really puts any thought into it, doesn't realize until the grass is underfoot that he's still in sweaty pajamas and bare feet, but he doesn't scale back up the house. The porch lights are lighting something skittish in the back of Ted's head, just a reminder that everyone knows who his dad is and hardly anyone likes him enough to not tell his dad anything and everything they see him doing. He doesn't want to stay here and risk his dad hearing something, doesn't want to risk the omniscient power his dad seems to have to know when Ted's not where he's supposed to be, so Ted decides to forget his shoes and takes off down the street before something reaches out of the dark to try and stop him. 

There's no real question of where Ted's going. He knows it'll be the first place anyone thinks to look for him but it's also the only place he _can_ go, so he has to just take it as it is. He realizes as he watches his feet hit the sidewalk that he doesn't know what time it is and it's probably really late and Bill's probably definitely asleep, but he doesn't stop running. Whether that's because he believes Bill will let him in anyway or because something will grab him if he stops is almost inconsequential. 

He barely has to pay attention to where he's going, Ted thinks he would know the way to Bill's house if he was blindfolded. Like he knows that place in his soul. 

(His dad would call that _queer_. Ted calls it _magic_.) 

There are scattered coins and pebbles tucked into the bushes under Bill's windows from previous visits, and Ted gathers them all up like talismans once again to ping them off the glass in an attempt to get Bill up. The longer that window stays closed the more panic starts to grow in Ted's lungs like weeds - what if something happened, what if something else got to him first, what if he's mad, what if he's not there, what if what if what if. 

But Bill comes to the window, looking out with bleary eyes and stepping back the moment he sees Ted to open the frame all the way while Ted clambers up the side of the house to climb through it. 

"What's up, Ted?" Bill asks while Ted crouches on the carpet to catch his breath, and Ted tries to find an answer but can't gather the words together past the panting in his throat. There's too much of it to encapsulate in just a few words, the dread of the nightmare he can't remember, the certainty of things lurking in the dark, the overwhelming nausea of the fact that his father has everyone watching everything he does, looking for the slightest excuse to send him away packing. The panic, however brief, that something had happened to Bill as well. "You alright, dude?" 

Ted shakes his head, eyes wide and searching over Bill's face for any indication that something is wrong. He can't seem to catch his breath. 

"You're soaked, dude," Bill informs him dutifully, but there's nothing in his face that says that anything is wrong. His eyes are half-lidded with sleep and his body is loose-limbed and open, and Ted's panic eases at that faster than anyone else's words could ever dream of. 

"Nightmare," Ted explains, then shrugs a little, "then I ran here." 

Bill nods along. "Most impressive physical acumen," he says, and Ted nods because he might as well. The anxiety is fading now, soothed in a way only Bill is ever able to manage; he'd go along with anything if Bill was the one asking it of him. (Some part of him worries that eventually someone will take advantage of that.) "Do you want to talk about it or something?" 

Ted would try if Bill wanted him to, but the honest answer is no. The fears are still too abstract for Ted to fit into words that make sense, and part of him cowers at the thought of trying. Still afraid that even Bill would take one look and finally turn him away, annoyed or disgusted or amused in all the worst ways. "I think I'd rather try to sleep more," he says. 

"That's probably good," Bill agrees, and Ted is relieved even though he doesn't quite think it's fair. "Let me get you some dry clothes first though." 

The two of them aren't quite the same size anymore - Ted's been getting taller and is pretty sure he won't be stopping for a while yet - but Bill likes baggy clothes as much as Ted does and they can still exchange them with relative ease. Ted is pretty pleased with the idea of being tall, but he hopes it never reaches a point where they lose this tradition. Some people joke that Bill and Ted share halves of the same brain, which Ted is never oblivious enough to miss as an insult, but the general idea resonates anyway. Ted isn't sure he'd ever say the word out loud but that doesn't change the fact that _soulmates_ is the one on his mind. The clothes are just a reminder of it. 

Sometimes when Ted sleeps over he'll sleep on the floor, some unspoken rule no one has ever told them out loud making the boundary clear, but even though Ted knows that Bill is the safest person to be around the thought of laying down low enough to peer into the shadows under the bed makes something dreadful rise up inside of him. He knows it'll be the best option all around, to keep that rule preserved and make sure that anyone who looks in through the window wouldn't see anything, to make sure that on the off chance Bill's dad comes by in the morning he won't see that Ted is here (Bill's dad hardly has a problem with Ted coming by, but he also hardly bothers to cause himself trouble by avoiding the question if Captain Logan asks where he is). He knows it's better, but his brain won't believe it. 

"Must have been a real heinous nightmare," Bill comments, and Ted startles back into awareness to find Bill at his side, peering up into his face. Some part of him wants to shy away from the gaze, like Bill might look too deep and see something Ted doesn't want to reveal, but he doesn't. Some part of him thinks that if there's anyone he'd let see all of his pieces, it would be Bill. "You don't gotta sleep on the floor. Come on."

He clambers into his bed, and Ted crawls in after him because if he has the permission he's not going to throw it away. The anxiety doesn't quite fade entirely, it lingers in Ted's blood like insects he just cant' shake, but he's willing to just pretend to ignore it. It almost isn't hard to do, while he ducks under Bill's covers and curls close around his side, like finding shelter. It almost doesn't matter that there's still the peripheral awareness that even this place isn't quite safe regardless of how much this person is, that there's still sweat clinging to Ted's temples and sticking strands of hair to his skin like little irritants. 

Without putting too much thought into it, Ted leans over and tucks his head against Bill's chest, and the heartbeat under his cheek soothes some clinging terror left from the nightmare that Ted almost hadn't noticed. He's a little worried that Bill will push him off - he won't really mind but he can't help but like it - but he doesn't. Instead he buries his hand in Ted's hair, like it doesn't bother him that it's sweat matted and greasy, and Ted is suddenly achingly grateful that he'd laid down facing away from Bill. He doesn't know what his face is doing and doesn't know what he'd do if he was able to look up and see Bill's eyes like this. 

There's a constant yawning terror that fights in Ted. Something that wants desperately for someone to look at him and _see him_ , see everything he's hiding and too afraid to reveal. See him and know who he is even while he's too scared to see it himself. Clashing with something that shrinks and screams at the thought of anyone seeing, of people pulling apart his skin to look at his bones and taking the vulnerability without bothering to ask. Of being seen and constantly found wanting. A nausea that overtakes him at the very thought. 

It isn't entirely gone (some part of Ted worries that it never truly will be), but it doesn't threaten to overwhelm him the way it usually tries to. It almost never does with Bill, and above all else Ted hopes that never changes. Prays that, regardless of what might happen around them, this never changes, that they themselves are never threatened. 

It's too much to say, so Ted doesn't bother, but he closes his eyes and tightens his grip on the front of Bill's shirt and can't tell if he hopes that says enough. 

(The way Bill's fingers gently untangle Ted's hair says something unspeakable right back. Ted shivers lightly at the sensation, and selfishly hopes that it's something Bill knows he's saying too.) 

**Author's Note:**

> the mortifying ordeal of existing - truly devastating shit 
> 
> Edit: also meant to mention that if you’ve left comments on this fic or any of my others, I’ve read and love them with my whole heart but I’m also a clown who can’t use Communication Words for shit so I rarely reply, but thank you so much for reading and commenting anyway !!!!!
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princexn-n.tumblr.com)


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